Page 193 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Wow, you must really be hungry.”

“Starving.”

I step out of the bathroom and reach for the bag with the subs, but Cillian pulls them out of my reach with a grin.

“You wanna say you love me again? I’d like to record it.”

“Fuck off,” I laugh. “Let’s sit on the balcony and eat these. She needs the rest.”

Nodding, Cillian heads straight for the balcony. I lag behind to fish out a navy-blue t-shirt with a round neckline. Then I walk over to Esme and pull back the covers long enough to slip the t-shirt on her.

She mumbles in her sleep before turning on her side, a sigh emanating from her slightly parted lips.

My hand reaches out before I can stop it and my fingers trail over her perfect lips. I let myself stare at her for another minute before tearing myself away.

I head out to the balcony where Cillian is waiting for me. It’s only big enough to accommodate the two fold-out chairs and the tiny round table that sits between them.

“I don’t bite,” Cillian says, patting the empty seat. “Much.”

“That’s the lamest dad joke I’ve ever heard.”

“How long ‘til you start cracking those?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m too hungry for that conversation, man. Give me the motherfucking sub.”

Laughing, he hands me my sandwich and a cold beer. I take a long swig, realizing that it’s been days since my last drink, and even longer since my last drinking binge.

That’s a little unnerving.

I set the bottle down and reach for the sub. The first huge bite is heaven-sent. The second is pure crack cocaine.

“Fuck,” I say, looking down at the sub. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Might be the last thing you ever will eat if you keep taking bites like a goddamn horse.”

“Good point,” I mumble, taking another generous mouthful.

We sit in silence for a while, eating and drinking until the subs disappear and our beers come down to the outdoor temperature.

I look down at the pool, which has long since been empty. The water looks calm and still, like a glowing blue mirror.

“I should leave soon,” Cillian says after some time has passed.

I turn to him. “You can sleep at the foot of the bed. I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“No, man,” he replies without laughing, shaking his head. “I mean, leave this motel. We shouldn’t be travelling together at all.”

“Fuck that. We stick together.”

“We’ve both got targets on our backs, Artem,” he replies. “So does Esme. There’s no fucking way staying together is the right thing to do, and you know that, too.”

I sigh. I do know that.

Cillian claps a hand on my shoulder. As chummy as ever, as if this was all a fun field trip instead of what it is—fucking betrayal.

“We’ll get some snazzy flip phones,” he says breezily, “so you can call me whenever you need a good laugh.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” I grumble.

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